


Make Your Mark

by softhanzos (kurohshimi)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Jesse is a bounty hunter like his in game occupation, M/M, and Hanzo is an assassin (likewise), hanzo gets covered in blood and doesnt care, its canon divergent, jesse is scared and impressed, kinda slow burn, other characters will show up and the tags will be updated, violence will and does occur, will i go into explicit detail only the writing gods know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-09-27 00:54:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9942950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurohshimi/pseuds/softhanzos
Summary: dates are dinner before a stake out,and soft kisses before an assassination.//Jesse McCree is a bounty hunter who mainly operates in the US, Hanzo Shimada is an assassin who decided that America was as good a place to set up shop as any.[ Or: Jesse and Hanzo end up having a rivalry over who gets the credit & the cash, but it soon turns into something... more ]





	1. ;; Chance Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off i'd love to dedicate this to two people: lizbeth (aka acehanzos on tumblr) for being one of my favourite people, my in-game Hanzo, and a great friend?? ily lots n lots <3 and my wonderful hanzo rp partner (aka stormbowed on tumblr) who helped me grow on this little au a bit ?? the idea came so suddenly and you were so supportive <3 so ty! also the poetic two-liner you came up with for this is gold ;o; thanks for letting me use it in the summary
> 
> i plan on this being multiple chapters long, and i have an ending in the rough (although i dont currently have an estimate on how many chapters exactly).
> 
> the chapters will also be longer than this i swear, this was just meant to give a feel for how it'll go and it contained all i wanted said
> 
> i hope y'all will join me on this wild ride<3

           It began slowly. 

           A small intake of breath: what felt like the only sound in the back alley, the small puff of vapor that accompanied only visible thanks to the lights from the connecting main street. Jesse watched the breath leave him, before his eyes locked onto his target – or rather, the man that had just _killed_ his target.

           “Who th’ hell are you?” he all but growled, re-holstering his gun at his hip and glaring openly at the stranger. There was now an _arrow_ sticking out of his mark’s neck. He’d wanted to take the man in alive – he was a well-known criminal in this part of the West Coast, a murderer, real dangerous type – so he could be locked up for the rest of his days.

           God knows Jesse himself should be locked up just as tight, but he didn’t want to dwell on that now.

           Thankfully, the man talking gave him reprieve: “It does not concern you,” he responded shortly, and the look he gave Jesse would make any weaker man wince away, “What are you doing here? Have you been following me?”

           His accent gave his words a pleasing sound – a sort of lilt. If he was to be honest, it wasn’t the only pleasing thing about this stranger, but if he stared just a little too long at the other man’s cheekbones, cleanly trimmed beard, or obviously defined body, well, then that was nobody’s business but his own.

           “I should be askin’ you th’ same questions, partner,” he drawled, a frown and draw to his brow setting in, “I finally corner this sucker, and suddenly he’s shish kebab’d an’ you come jumpin’ down from the damn sky.”

           This was apparently a stupid thing to say, because suddenly the other man was _a lot_ closer than previously. Cold metal, an unmistakable sharpened edge, was being pressed against his throat – and there was no doubt in his mind that the stranger would hesitate to use it.

           A stray thought flittered by; Jesse was taller by at least a few inches.

           “If you were half as observant as you think you are, you’d be twice as observant as you actually are,” the stranger spat at him unhelpfully, before pushing away and the knife was being tucked away back from wherever it originally came from. “He was _my_ contract. Who are you? Whom do you work for?”

           Jesse glowered, “Woah there on the twenty-questions, _darlin’_ ,” he drawled, eyeing the others outfit with barely-concealed curiosity. The shorter man was wearing an olive green combat jacket over dark pants that seemed to tuck into some sort of metallic boots. A quiver of now-familiar arrows was strapped across his back, not really matching the aesthetic of the rest of the outfit with its blue ribboning – although, Jesse noticed, it did match the bow in the mans left grip. “I don’t work for nobody but myself, and _my_ job was to take that sucker in. But ya’ killed him, so I s’pect that’ll be difficult. You an assassin?”

           There was a pregnant pause before the other man answered, sharp eyes hooded by dark and expressive brows, “I am,” he began slowly, reluctant to give information about himself, Jesse guessed, “But I was not aware he was on a bounty hunters list. Of which I assume you are?”

           Jesse’s gaze moved to the dead man that sat slumped against the brick wall beside them both, “Sure am,” he confirmed, “Name’s McCree. You are, sugar?”

           The glare he received made it clear that the man didn’t appreciate the pet name, though it could’ve just been Jesse’s questioning – he’d have to make note to use it again to confirm that. “Perhaps _I_ am on one of your lists, and _I_ am your true target. Why should I tell you?”

           He had a point there. “Because I told you mine, and I have a feelin’ if ya’ wanted to, I’d be deader than a doornail before you let me catch you. Trust me, partner, I’d no idea you were gonna be here.”

           “Hm,” the shorter man made a thoughtful noise, “You are correct. If you attempted to take me in, you would have an arrow in that skull of yours. Hanzo.”

           It took him a moment to realize that the tacked-on word at the end was his name, and boy if that wasn’t a way to introduce yourself. Jesse grinned, “Trust me, darlin’, I have no intention of bringin’ you in.”

           “And I have no intention to trust you,” was Hanzo’s tart reply as he leant down to pull his arrow out of marks neck, looking at its bloodstained head with such a bland expression that Jesse was almost impressed as the dark-haired man began to clean it off succinctly with a small cloth. “So you will excuse me if I take my leave now, with _him_ ,” the last word was said with a jerk of the head towards the body.

           Jesse let out a low whistle as Hanzo knelt down to scoop up and throw the limp form over his shoulder before standing. That took strength, Jesse knew, to lift dead weight like that. A small part of him wondered what the other man looked like without that bulky coat. Stepping back, Jesse gave Hanzo room to hook his bow over his free shoulder, before speaking, “Maybe we’ll run into each other again – small world an’ all.”

           Hanzo turned away from him and started down the alleyway, step surprisingly light considering the weight and choice of footwear, “I should hope not,” was his dry response. He was almost at the end of the alley before he turned slightly to look at Jesse, and the taller man could swear he saw a smirk on his face. “Oh, and McCree?”

           “Yes?” he replied warily, hands on his hips.

           “Never call me one of those… _names_ again.”

           “That implies we’ll be seein’ each other, _sweet pea_!” Jesse called after Hanzo’s retreating form, before sighing and sticking his thumbs through his belt loops. He’d have to call his contact, let them know that the man was a void bounty. Pick up another one. Change locations again. Possibly smuggle his revolver onto another plane and leave the country for a while.

           He pulled a cigarillo out of a small box he fished out of his pocket and lit it, glancing up at the sky thoughtfully. The city always left him feeling closed in – the sky was unnaturally void of stars thanks to light pollution. Maybe it was time to go out east.


	2. ;; Incipient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey'all!! 
> 
> I'm really sorry for the lateness of this chapter orz
> 
> the stress of graduating soon really hit me, so I'm gonna warn that updates will probably be sporadic, but I'm trying to make them long to make up for it!!
> 
> the balls finally rolling, so things'll pick up from now on!!
> 
> once again I'd like to thank Lizbeth, Prof and Cat (acehanzos, mysteryprof, and stormbowed on tumblr respectively!) for constant support, editing help (lookin' at you especially Lizbeth ;v;;) and giving me feedback on how it's going !<3
> 
> hope y'all enjoy!

            As it turned out, Jesse’s plans wouldn’t get passed the “idea” stage.

            Not a day after losing his target to the assassin, he was contacted by his… contractor about another nearby job.

            He took it, of course, after informing his contact about the last bounty. The smaller the distance to travel, the less hassle, and the more money he got to keep for himself after paying the job’s expenses. His line of work could have some expensive bills. Thankfully he worked alone, so the cash he made could go towards buying information, smuggling himself and Peacekeeper onto various modes of transport, or paying people to look the other when they spotted the wanted bounty hunter. You name it.

            Plus, a man’s gotta sleep n’ eat.

            The person – _persons,_ maybe, he wouldn’t exactly know – who contacted him for these jobs was one of the only people he remotely trusted in his career path. They communicated through chat rooms when he was out and through hired goons when he came to the dead drops to cash in. He didn’t know them by name – real or code – and they didn’t know his either. His contractor used a symbol to sign; a purple skull that reminded him of the alfeñiques his mamá would make late October when he was younger. Maybe that’s why he found himself trusting this one out of the others – the familiarity.

            That, and the money was good.

            The job he’d just picked up was in Arizona, southeast along the border of SoCal. Wasn’t supposed to be too big of a target – only one mark, hiding out in the Mojave Valley. Didn’t know what the sucker did to get on the list, but he figured he’d probably find out through his research.

            The fastest way to get to Arizona would be by bullet train. Seeing as how he was a wanted man himself, he didn’t think he’d be buying a ticket anytime soon, but that didn’t really matter. He’d train hopped before, he’d do it again now, and he’d _definitely_ be doing it in the future.

            There was a station roughly fifteen minutes away in a neighboring town, and time was money. Jesse began his walk; couldn’t afford public transportation with a bounty on his head, and having his own vehicle was too difficult with the traveling he did.

            He’d always wanted a motorcycle, though. Maybe he’d buy a chopper one day. He could make it work.

            As he walked, Jesse was painfully aware of just how much he stuck out like a sore thumb here. He never bothered with disguises or trying to tone down his dress; the cowboy wore his hat, spurs, and sarape with an odd sort of pride. He knew he looked out of place with his cowboy – _vaquero, mi’jo_ – get-up, he wasn’t _blind_ , he just didn’t care all that much. The gunslinger thought he looked good, even if others were inclined to disagree.

            Jesse lit a cigarillo with the small silver matchbox lighter he kept on his person, before returning it to his pocket and taking a long drag.

            He’d been trying to cut back – using a toothpick from a small bundle of the things he carried to keep his mouth occupied whenever he got the urge – but today seemed as good a day to smoke as ever. It calmed his nerves, the constant thrum of electricity under his skin that kept him on his feet. They reminded him of the danger he was in, the extra danger he _put_ himself in on a daily basis. Idiotic, but it was what he was good at, and no one was gonna hire a wanted man.

            Not for any _legal_ jobs, anyway.

            He hadn’t finished the cigarillo yet before he reached the train station. Letting out a breath of smoke, Jesse shouldered the small travel bag he carried. It never held much – anything small he needed he could easily buy at a corner store or the like – so it mostly just held extra supplies and could be folded up and pocketed easily. Stopping in front of the designated pot for discarding cigarettes and the like, he flicked the still smoldering butt of his cigar into it before opening and holding the door for a woman and her young child, accompanied with a murmuring of “Ma’am,”.

            Not littering and holding the door? No one could tell him that he _wasn’t_ a shining member of society.

            Jesse checked the departure and arrival times. There was a train scheduled to arrive from Flagstaff, the closest stop to his target. With a sigh, he made his way back outside to wait. Settling himself little ways away from the building – across the street: he could still see when the train arrived, but he wouldn’t have to be particularly close – he sat on a bench that was shaded by the old-timey stores that lined the streets.

            He contemplated lighting another cigarillo, but he’d just had one, and there were only a few more in the box that was hidden away at the bottom of his bag. Jesse’d have to buy another one when he reached his destination.

            Time passed… slowly.

            Arms crossed over his chest, flesh one covering the metal one subconsciously, he studied the small town he’d come across. The gunslinger hadn’t really had the chance to _look_ at it; more preoccupied with finding the information he needed first. The stores had a distinct run-down-but-still-cared-for feel. The display windows were soft and foggy; streets and sidewalk marred with unfilled cracks, rust covering many of the posts and railings. The whole aesthetic was familiar and comfortable, reminding him of the many towns he’d come through as a teenager, running away from problems and solutions alike.

            Glancing up, he saw that the sun had traveled farther than he expected, past overhead now, giving him a good measure to discern the time. Past noon. The hyper train would arrive soon: twelve-thirty.

            Standing and straightening his stance with a full-bodied stretch, Jesse readjusted the bag on his shoulder under his sarape – the woolen shawl worn strategically to cover his six-shooter. Mostly. He learned quickly that often the best place to hide was in plain sight, especially if one dressed as memorably as he did. Wasn’t meant for stealth, and as long as he acted as he did normally, usually nobody would bat an eye more than twice in his direction.

            Sure, he was an anomaly in most situations, but there were stranger things.

            The whistling that signified the train’s arrival broke him out of his thoughts and Jesse started forward, barely glancing to check traffic before he crossed back across the street. The trains didn’t make noise unless it was passing directly in front of you, otherwise, they were nigh silent – something that Jesse was used to by now, but originally it had confused him greatly.

            Sneaking onto the platform was easy as pie at this point – as well as was clambering atop the train and hunkering down atop of it in an indent.  His method of keeping himself on the train’s cabin was a coveted technique – one that, in trying to perfect it, he’d almost lost his life several times.

            Using his bag to pillow his head, he tucked his Stetson under his arm and used a tie to put his hair back in a stubby ponytail. He’d planned on sleeping this through, and he wanted to minimalize what could possibly wake him up. Jesse was already a terribly light sleeper – a precaution that’s kept him alive in his thirty-seven years – he didn’t need strands of hair whipping around his face to keep him awake.

            The speeds at which the trains move used to make him worried; until, that is, he found that he could use his bionic arm’s grip to keep himself on if he needed. Now it was almost calming. It said something about a man when he could find rest atop of a vehicle that moved at impossible speeds without any safety precautions.         

            He mused what his mamá would think if she knew her son was so reckless, before drifting off.     

 

                                                                                                          ♦

           

            He woke abruptly to find that the train had come to a stop, the magnets beneath the rails pulling the locomotive not-so-gently.

            Looking around, Jesse frowned faintly to himself – he could hear voices, and they didn’t sound happy. Leaning towards the side above the platform, he glanced towards the main exit to find that there was a gathering of people, all of them clamoring together nervously like a school of fish. Sitting up straight, Jesse grabbed his belongings, swung his legs over the edge and dropped down, bending his knees to break the fall. No one noticed his less-than-subtle entrance, too distracted by whatever ruckus was going on the other side. Jesse wasn’t sure yet, whether he should be thankful or worried about the commotion.

            Deciding to ignore it for now, he slung his bag over his shoulder – hiding it along with Peacekeeper under his sarape – and continued on away from the group. He needed to find a place quiet enough to get his bearings; figure out the route to his next destination and how exactly to get there.

            That turned out to be more difficult than planned, however, as soon as he’d turned and started towards the nearest abandoned exit, someone screamed, and all hell broke loose.

            Jesse’d planned on ignoring the scream – he really had – but he couldn’t bring himself to book it if someone was being attacked. He was an outlaw, wanted by Deadlock and two governments, but he wasn’t _heartless_. Swearing softly, he quickly tucked his belongings under a bench and made his way back to the commotion, hand hovering over where Peacekeeper was holstered at his hip, fingers twitching.

            Rushing over, Jesse parted the small sea of people to see a man lying on the ground. Well, splayed on the ground with an arrow sticking through his chest was probably the better way to put it. A gun – a Glock? It looked police issued, and the classic was unmistakable – lay abandoned by the man’s hand, and a quick glance at the people around him confirmed Jesse’s growing concern.

            He had to get out of there. _Now_. There was no need for more death in the station today, and Jesse had no intention to get caught and arrested (or worse, a tiny voice in his mind unhelpfully supplied, probably worse), so avoidance was key.

            Turning, he rushed back to where he’d left his few belongings, eyeing the people around him with thinly-veiled suspicion. Civilians mostly; there didn’t seem to be much in the way of security: that one guard that had gotten shot, the others were probably on the chase. Readjusting his sarape over his bag, Jesse McCree threw one last glance at the crowd to make sure no one was going to follow him, before making his leave.

            “McCree has left the building,” he muttered to himself, a humorless joke.

            He was a little upset that he wouldn’t be able to stay in town, iconic city and all that.

 

                                                                                                          ♦

 

            It didn’t occur to him that the arrow was an oddity until much later – after leaving the city of Flagstaff, Arizona long behind him.

            A _very_ familiar oddity. Jesse thought of the assassin from before – Hanzo – with his old-style weaponry. The bow had looked a lot more hi-tech than the traditional bows Jesse knew from movies and the like, compound and just as deadly as any firearm. It’d be nice to see him in action again – preferably _not_ while Jesse was trying to take in a bounty, but as long as that didn’t become a _habit_ ….

The thought of the archer brought forth a slew of questions that flooded his mind, now that he was on a steady pace of travel. Was Hanzo following him? Did he know that Jesse would be there at the station? And if so, how had Jesse not _seen_ the archer.

            Maybe he hadn’t been the only one ‘ _riding_ ’ the train.

            Frowning slightly, the gunslinger checked the time on his wrist com one more time. Usually, it stayed under his glove, but he’d taken that off due to the heat. About a half hour into his trek east to the Mojave, his contractor had sent him a message to meet here at a gas station along Route 66. There hadn’t been much of an explanation besides a “trust me, plus, I’m paying you, remember?” and Jesse wasn’t going to argue too much, it wasn’t exactly out of his way, so he honestly didn’t mind.

            It didn’t keep him from being on high alert the entire time. He eyed the entrance like a hawk, not really looking at the back of the chips he was supposedly inspecting. In the basket on his arm, he had various things he’d picked up to keep up the guise of a customer: jerky, a bottle of water, firearms magazine.

            Things he admittedly wanted but wasn’t going to guilt himself over.

            He tossed in a box of cheese-y crackers when his com buzzed with a new message. Checking it for the nth time, he was relieved to see “outside, think you’ll like this”. Jesse was never one for waiting. After paying quickly, he shoved his new purchases in his bag before leaving the store, the jingling of his spurs matching the jingling of the bell that signified his departure.

            As soon as he was back out in the Arizona heat – hot despite the fact that it was early spring, the weather just recovering from winter; not that he was complaining, he hated snow with a _passion_ – it was obvious what the message had been about. Sitting pretty in between a dusty pickup and a conspicuous white van, was a chopper. Grinning like a loon, Jesse picked up his pace to stand by the ‘cycle. The symbol on the van caught his eye, that familiar purple skull, and he found himself pausing for a moment.

           

            [ i’m not one to look the gift horse in the mouth, but what’s this for? ]

           

            He quickly typed out the question on his com, staring at the skull, before his gaze returned to the motorcycle. Jesse thumbed the leather upholstery. It wasn’t cheap.

            Something was definitely up.

            After a moment of waiting and staring at the com’s screen, the cowboy was startled by the sudden roar of an engine. Attention torn from the device in his hands, he watched as the van backed up and did a concise three-point-turn before beginning a rumbling trip down the road in the direction Jesse had come. He frowned, just as his com vibrated again.

           

            [ So sure I'm not giving you an old Chevrolet? I need you to get there **first** , obviously, tonto. Consider it an advance payment. ]

 

            So it was coming out of his pay. Alright, Jesse could work with that. He’d probably buy one just like it with his paycheck anyway, so having it now was only the more convenient. Heaving a sigh, Jesse transferred the items from both of his bags into the saddlebags of the bike, before rolling both up and sticking them in too. Grinning, he eyed the motorcycle. Now that any suspicion was cleared, he could finally _appreciate_. Situating himself on the machine, he started it up. The rumble felt _good_.

            Oh, he could get _used_ to this.

            Suddenly, a thought struck him. Plucking the hat off his own head, he tried to carefully – fold just _so_ – tuck his Stetson into one of the saddlebags, before bringing up his sarape to cover the lower half of his face. Didn’t have a helmet, didn’t need one in this state, but at least it’d offer some protection from the wind.

            Gently squeezing the clutch, Jesse all but whooped in joy as he flew out of the parking lot. He’d get to the Mojave in no time.             

 

                                                                                                          ♦

 

            The initial rush of riding the motorcycle hadn’t worn off, even hours later.

            He’d arrived in a small town – it had “Springs” in the name, that’s all he remembered – and found a local diner to take a rest stop at. Jesse had decided that recon could wait until he’d eaten, his stomach had made itself known about halfway through his journey. Leaving the motorcycle gave him a probably unreasonable amount of anxiety, but he decided that food was more important.

            Settled now at a table near a window – he could see the motorcycle in plain view – the gunslinger fumbled with his com, checking the notes he’d made about the case while on the train to Flagstaff. There wasn’t much to go on: the general area, the stats on the guy, how much he was worth. Nothing you couldn’t look up on the internet, _especially_ in that dark web shit.

            His target went by the name Cielo, real name unknown except for the fact that the first initial was ‘B.’. There was a less-than-satisfactory, grainy mugshot, along with a general description that Jesse’d long learned by now not to trust – they were more of a guideline – and the list of his accused crimes: Grand larceny, murder, battery, vehicular theft. A real rough'n tumble fella.

            Jesse grimaced; he’d done worse.

            The good news was that Cielo was apparently worth a good thirty-five thou. Known for working alone, except for his brother, but that sucker was dead. Hid out in the desert after a police chase that left him with the inability to show his face in public.

            The bad news was that the man was _out in the desert._ Jesse had no clue where to start with that, at least not yet. He breathed out a sigh, wishing he could smoke in the building.

            Glancing up at the faint sound of footsteps, he saw the waitress was bustling her way over, probably to ask him if he actually wanted something, or did he just want to sit here for another hour?

            He decided on coffee – cream, sugar: the whole nine yards – and a stack of pancakes.

            So what if it was almost 6 p.m.? They seemed happy to have the business, even if he got a few strange looks for it.

            Jesse asked if there was anywhere to stay for a few nights. The waitress – Sara, by her nametag – told him there was a motel in town. Nothing fancy, but it didn’t matter, he responded, as he wasn’t exactly a fancy man.

            She smiled, smiled wider when he gave her a tip for the info, and when she returned with his food Jesse set to ask her if there was anything she could share on the rumors of the wanted man in the desert.

            Sara informed him that there was _something_ , but it was nothing concrete. There was caves – old abandoned mine shafts, natural holes in the red rocks – all over that was historically and locally used as hideouts. There was a bit of speculation that Cielo was in the southern area of the Mojave, and that he was relying on friends he’d made in the surrounding small towns to bring him supplies.

            He thanked her, gave her another small wad of cash, and tipped his hat. She hadn’t even asked about his arm.

            Left alone with his breakfast-for-dinner and thoughts, Jesse pulled the communication device off of his wrist to hold it in one hand, curiosity getting the best of him. He’d done his base information search, got a tip from a local, and had dinner and a place to crash, the cowboy could afford to do something off the books.

            Typing in his query and a few possible helpful keywords, Jesse frowned at the lack of results. Even Jesse had a few dozen web pages dedicated to stories on his jobs, and he was on the Most Wanted list. Maybe changing a few words…?

            Bingo.

            Given, the first result was entirely in Japanese, but that was easily translated. Bless modern technology, honestly.

            After giving the page a cursory scroll, skimming the flowery wording for solid information, he finally had a better idea of the man that’d been on his mind for the last few days.

            It didn’t give a name, just a description, but the similarities were too blatant to be anything else.

            Opening a new tab, he used the article to garner more results, finding more articles on the assassin that reportedly cost more than a small yacht to afford. One of them gave the assassin the name ‘Ronin’, which, after more research, became a common theme.

            An archer assassin, strange in the late 21st century – hell, probably would’ve been strange in the late 20th and 19th, too – but he wasn’t anything to laugh at. Ronin supposedly did his job and did it _well,_ but then again, Jesse knew that from first-hand experience. He’d started in Japan, eventually went global, but did most of his ‘work’ in the United States these past few years. There wasn’t a whole lot on him other than there were seemingly no limits to his capabilities. He took on targets of all different types, had eliminated some in broad daylight, and left without a trace.

            Jesse let out a low whistle. It was hard not to be impressed. Or scared. Or a little turned on. Or all three.

            Ronin’s identity was a mystery to all… except for one person.

            Jesse McCree was no betting man, but he’d put his money that this ‘Ronin’ was also known as Hanzo.

            And to think that Jesse’d called this dangerous sonova bitch ‘ _darling’_.

            A small part of him preened that Hanzo had practically let him.

            He closed all of his research and strapped his com back onto his wrist when Sara came over to ask him if he wanted anything else. The gunslinger gave her a ‘no’, ready to get packed up and on the road. He had a couple stops before he made his way to that motel she’d mentioned. They smiled and gave each other a wave.

            He’d almost forgotten what it was like to live like a normal human being. He almost missed it, Jesse mused, as he left the diner and got on his bike, revving the engine experimentally.

            Almost.

 

                                                                                                          ♦

 

            The motel wasn’t much, but like he’d said to the waitress earlier, he didn’t mind.

            As Jesse flopped down onto the thin bed, burying his face in the off-white pillows and sheets, his wrist started vibrating again, causing him to groan.

           

            [ You there yet? ] it read.

           

            Jesse frowned. Usually, his employer didn’t check up on him. Then again, they didn’t usually buy him motorcycles either, so there was a first for everything it seemed. Bringing the small device closer to his face, he squinted at the screen. 8:23 p.m. He hadn’t turned the lights on, just tossed his now numerous bags onto the floor at the foot of the bed and collapsed, so the brightness stung a little bit. Bringing up the keyboard, he awkwardly dug his arm out from underneath himself to type a quick response.

 

            [ in a motel near the mojave, if thats what youre wonderin ]

 

            [ Well at least you’re close to the target. But you still might miss him, you know anything yet? ]

           

            [ got some info on the guy, planned on goin out into the desert tomorrow to do a search for his place and maybe even catch em. what dyou mean i might miss him? ]

           

            Jesse sat up slowly, reaching over to turn the bedside light on and illuminate the room. After a few moments, he gave up on the immediate response and stood, a tiny part of him motivating Jesse to at least put his food in the available mini-fridge. He pulled out a small bottle that he’d bought at the diner’s vending machine before he left – an iced tea/lemonade combination. The cowboy’d had it before and had a soft spot for the drink; the vending machine had seemed to call to him. Unscrewing the cap, he took a quick swig before the com brought him back to the pressing matter of his job and how apparently, he might miss out on this bounty. Again. 

            His mind went briefly to the archer. Briefly. It _couldn’t_ be him.

           

            [ You aren’t the only ‘professional’- ] he ignored the quotations, pride hurting a little – he _was_ a professional! [ out there. There’re other bounty hunters looking for this guy. You aren’t the only hunter I’ve sent, either. ]

 

            The emphasis wasn’t lost on Jesse, but it did give him a better idea on his employer. Singular, assumedly, and obviously had other ‘hunters they gave jobs to. Not a whole lot, but it was more than he knew when he first started getting bounties through them six months ago. He’d had a similar arrangement before – Jesse did the dirty work, brought the bounty to an arranged meeting spot, and got a cut of the reward; overall easier and more secure than going out looking for bounties himself – but he’d liked the percent cut of this contractor more.           

            His com buzzed again, [ And he doesn’t just have a bounty listing. He’s pissed off enough people that he’s wanted **dead** too. ]

 

            Jesse’s mind went once more to Hanzo, but he shook it off. Surely ‘Ronin’ wouldn’t bother with a (relatively) low-paying job like this. The last one, sure, but not some lowlife in the desert.

 

            [ so what youre tryna say is i need to get off my ass and get moving if i want to get paid? ]

 

            [ Exactly. Good luck, Deadeye. ]

 

            The use of his old alias caught him off guard, heart skipping a beat, causing a pause before he was furiously typing a response,

            [ now how the fuck did you know that name ]

 

            Jesse sat on the end of the bed, the bottle of tea left long forgotten beside him as he stared at his com. He’d stopped using that name decades ago. How did his employer...?

            The answer probably should be obvious. They'd researched him. Smart move, Jesse would've done the same, if he was in that position. But, nonetheless, it left him with a sour taste in his mouth. There should be no way of knowing of that long-forgotten name, Jesse'd tried his damned hardest to try and leave that part of him behind, working hard to redeem himself after... After he left. He did what he does best, getting scum off the streets; wasn’t like he could do anything different Jesse hadn’t even finished high school anyhow.

            After a few minutes with no response, Jesse growled in frustration, tossing his phone onto his bed before making his way into his bathroom. He needed a shower, and evidently, he had to get back on the road again as soon as possible.

 

                                                                                                          ♦

 

            The gunslinger had only one change of clothes: his main duds. They were washed often for various reasons and perhaps needed holes stitched or seams sewn, but they didn't need to be replaced.

            However, that didn't mean he didn't wear other clothes when he was out on the job. Before he got his room at the motel, he'd stopped in town to buy some basic amenities and an outfit that would better handle the Arizona desert and prove to be a little less inconspicuous.

            After his shower, he changed into a pair of dark jeans and a red flannel. The jeans didn't fit right in the waist and he needed to roll the bottoms up, but he had his signature belt and boots, so altogether it worked fine.

            Forgoing his sarape, hat, and body armor, Jesse strapped on a shoulder holster and got Peacekeeper situated before tossing a jacket over his arm. He'd looked for a motorcycle helmet – a small, nagging voice in his head that sounded like a motherly figure he'd left long ago, reminded him of the dangers that came with not wearing one – but none of the local stores in town sold one.

            Jesse would make sure to buy a helmet next time he was in bigger town or city.

            Grabbing the bag that had a few boxes of ammunition inside – Jesse thankedwhoever was listening for the thousandth time that Arizona didn't require a license to buy bullets – he made his way out of his motel after locking it. He probably wouldn't need to stay in town after tonight, but he planned on spending a good day in bed if this job went well.

            The GPS in his com directed him along a series of small roads until he hit a dead-end, announcing unhelpfully that he'd arrived at his “destination”. Sighing, Jesse pulled up a small holo-map of this section of the desert, wondering which area he should search first. He'd had tougher jobs, but the number of deep crags and caves had him a little uneasy.

            He wasn't afraid of caves. He wasn't. Maybe he was just a _little_ claustrophobic but he could handle one measly cave if it meant getting paid.

            Steeling himself, the gunslinger patted the spot where Peacekeeper resided, a comforting action. He'd get in, get out with the target, get paid. Hopefully. Probably.

            He could handle this.

 

                                                                                                          ♦

 

            Decidedly, he couldn't handle this.

            All the bravado in the world couldn't stop the wave of nausea at the thought of the roof caving in, the heaviness that seemed to weigh on him, or the fact that he both wanted to light another cigarillo and snub the one he was still working on out to conserve air.

            He knew it was ridiculous. He'd been over the feelings time and time again with various well-meaning people years ago. That wasn't the point. What _was_ the point was that he _couldn't fucking breathe._

            Jesse began his muttered cursing of the cave, its mother, and, _scratch that,_ its entire _family_ , when he heard a man's scream.

            Or at least, it took him a minute to recognize the guttural, almost inhuman noise over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears.

            Jesse unholstered Peacekeeper, the familiar weight of his prized weapon comforting – one of few he had access to in this forsaken place; humankind wasn't meant to be where the sun didn't shine. The noise sounded like it came from the left, but also to the right…

            Straight ahead it was.

            With his revolver, Jesse felt a smidgen less anxious about the situation, knowing that if the hunt went south, he could (probably) shoot his way out. It was what he was best at, anyways.

            Navigating the cave system was a mite more complicated than he thought, the memories of old mine shafts around where he'd grown up outside of Las Cruces was nothing more than a fuzzy memory, and the uncanny ability as a child to not get lost wasn't a skill he'd retained. Jesse began whistling a tune from an old Eastwood movie, anything to distract himself from the encroaching walls, but he quickly stopped himself in his tracks. If the bounty _was_ in here, he sure as hell knew Jesse was too, now.

            Who had he been kidding, thinking he could handle this job. Ever since the last bounty, he'd been feeling off his game. He should’ve gone east like he'd wanted, taken a break.

            The screaming has stopped almost as soon as he'd noticed it. Jesse was just moving in the dark, the only light he had to go by coming from the dim screen of his wrist com, completely oblivious to where he needed to go.

            The cowboy swore heatedly into the void space in front of him. Way to go, Jesse McCree, you're going to die alone in the dark like an idiot, _pendejo._

            The next thing that happened, happened _very_ suddenly.

            Jesse shot before he even saw what – who? – had just burst into the room. The muzzle flash lit up a small area around his outstretched hand, and Jesse heard a deep voice swear colorfully. The bullet had missed – Jesse heard it go off down the tunnel to his right, ricocheting but at least at a safer distance. _Idiot_. Mistake number two. Or three. He'd lost count at this point.

            Who'd been counting?

            “You again?” The voice continued, switching from a language that had been decidedly not English, “What are you doing here?” It demanded.

            Jesse took a deep breath. He _really_ didn't need this right now. Not him, not now, not here.

            “Fancy meetin’ you here,” he managed, throat feeling rough and dry, “We always run into each other in th’ nicest of places. Think we should aim to somewhere that ain't dark next time, wha’d’ya think, darlin’?”

            A quick let out of breath – a scoff, “I would rather we did not run into each other at all,” a pause, Jesse was struggling to control his breathing, “Are you alright?” the other man asked, although he sounded indifferent, Jesse could almost imagine he could hear concern. Would be a nice change.

            “Nah, don't think I am, but don't you worry your pretty little head. Not that I'm sure y’ would in the first place, but y’know.” Jesse re-holstered Peacekeeper, hand almost too sweaty to grasp it properly. He couldn't see to shoot, and his nerves were so rattled that he didn't trust his other senses either. If Hanzo wanted to kill him, at this point he easily could've even if Jesse _was_ armed. Not that he had a feeling that the archer would, but nonetheless.

            Hanzo didn't respond for a few moments, and Jesse felt like he was drowning, “What is wrong?” the assassin asked finally, tone wavering slightly, and the gunslinger could tell that he'd gotten closer. The archer still sounded uncertain, and Jesse could smell something familiarly and distinctly metallic.

            “Feelin’ a bit under the weather. Need t’ get out,” He admitted. Usually, he wasn't one to admit weakness to an enemy – Hanzo wasn't an _enemy_ per se, but they were definitely rivals by career – but he couldn't handle the deafening pounding in his head and he didn't trust himself to know the way back out.

            Jesse felt the presence of Hanzo almost as much as he could _smell_ Hanzo. Whatever Hanzo had done to Cielo wasn't pretty, the shorter man was drenched in the stench of blood and for once since he'd stepped into this cave he was happy he couldn't see anything. A hand landed on his metallic forearm and Jesse wondered vaguely how the archer could see anything, let alone properly locate Jesse's arm.

            “You are shaking,” he observed, and Jesse could almost hear the frown the other was almost guaranteed to sport.

            “Gee, thanks, darlin’,” the cowboy drawled in response, “Didn’t know that.”

            “If you would prefer, I could leave you here with the soon to be rotting corpse of our mutual target.”

            Jesse shook his head fervently, before remembering that Hanzo couldn't see him and answered verbally, “Jus’- jus’ get me out. Please.”

            The grasp on his arm tightened, the smaller man pressing into his side to guide Jesse. “Come then, we will leave this place together and then go our separate ways.”

            Jesse laughed weakly, “See, an’ I was hopin’ we could go out to eat later.”

            “I believe it is 9:30, I would hate to see what you would constitute as food at this hour,” Was the amused response.

            “Any time would be a good time with _you_ , sugar. Plus, there's this li’l diner in town, got the meanest stack of pancakes around – don’t tell my mamá,” Jesse retorted, smile in place. The easy banter was good, he could _do_ easy banter.

            “It would be in your best interest to stop talking, _cowman._ And I do not think I will be seeing your mother anytime soon, so your secret is safe with me,” Hanzo spoke softly, sounding right beside his ear; if he'd had been any less distracted, the gunslinger would've enjoyed this opportunity a lot more.  

            “Can't help it, darlin’, ’s what I do when ‘m nervous.”

            “Do try.”

            “Anything for you, honey bee.”

            Hanzo made a noise in response, barely loud enough for Jesse to register, but he took it as a sign of amusement at Jesse's verbal antics and not a sign of his growing impatience with the cowboy. He really hoped it was the former.

            Jesse's vow of silence didn't last long, however: “So, y’ took care of ol’e Cielo already, huh?” His heartbeat was returning to a pace that could be considered normal again, and Hanzo’s presence at his side was more comforting than he would've thought for a hired killer.

            Hanzo gave a long-suffering sigh, “Yes, I did. I only needed a part of him as proof, so I left his body in one of the crevices.”

            “What part?” Jesse asked, genuinely curious.

            “You were here for him too, were you not?” The archer questioned, avoiding Jesse's own inquiry.

            “Yeah, he had more than a skilled assassin on his tail, that's for sure,” the cowboy paused momentarily, “Damn shame I couldn't get here – I messed up that last job an’ I could've used the cash from this’un.”

            Hanzo made a curious noise, “I would say I was sorry, but I find that being truthful is key.”

            The gunslinger laughed, shaking his head slightly, “Y’re just plain _mean_ , honeysuckle.”

            “What did I tell you about those ridiculous names?”

            “An’ what did I say? That we’d see each other again? Look’it us.”

            “Dragging you through a cave? How fortuitous.”

            “A real Prince Charmin’, my own personal savior,” Jesse swooned, still laughing. “Speakin’ of, how long ‘til we get out of here? Not that I don't appreciate your company an’ help, but I'd rather be able t’ see y’, you understand.”

            Hanzo seemed to consider for a moment, “I am not quite sure, we might be going further in.”

            Jesse gaped for a moment before hollering, “Tha’s jus’ cruel, darlin’ – usin’ a man's fears against him.”

            He could almost _see_ Hanzo's smirk in amusement, “I have no idea what you mean,” he replied, sounding as innocent as a saint. Jesse knew better.

            “Sure y’ don't, sure y’don't,” the gunslinger waved it off, sighing.

            There was a comfortable silence after that, one that Jesse didn't feel the need to fill. It surprised him when, several minutes later, Hanzo was the one to break it.

            “Surely you could do without the payout from this job,” Hanzo spoke slowly, not said as a question, but the intent was there.

            The cowboy took a moment to answer. It was technically true – he could do without the _cash_ – but he didn't want to lose his contractor's trust. They wouldn't contact him about bounties if he wasn’t reliable. He'd had a streak going with them until the last job, and failure left a long-lasting taste of bitterness in his mouth.

            “I guess not,” he began, equally as slow, “My employer was countin’ on me gettin’ it done, though, and 'm nothin’ if not a man of his honor.”

            Hanzo scoffed again, he seemed to do a lot of that, “Honor? What does a man like you know of _honor_?”

            This made Jesse bristle, “'Like me’? Sorry darlin’, didn’t know bein’ an assassin was a better career choice than bein’ a bounty hunter, f’r you t’ be on your _high horse_ about it.”

            They stopped, and Hanzo pulled away from him. Jesse immediately felt his absence and was reminded why the archer had been so close in the first place. The entrance had to be close at this point, right? Or had Hanzo been telling the truth and they were only going further in? What if Hanzo planned on killing him while he was weakened by fear, get rid of the competition? What if—

            “You know nothing of me, or about me,” was the assassin's short answer, then, “But I suppose the same could be said for you. I apologize.”

            Jesse let out a breath he hadn't been consciously holding, “Can't say I wouldn't like t’ get t’ know you, sweet pea,” he croaked.

            “You are ridiculous, and on the verge of another panic attack, no doubt. Save your pathetic excuses for flirting for another time.”

            He laughed weakly, “Y’ got me. An’ I suppose y’ could do better?” It didn't escape him that Hanzo had said 'another time’ instead of telling him to stop altogether.

            Hanzo returned his side, hooking their arms together, “Perhaps if we get out of this cave, you will get the chance to see, cowman.”

            If Jesse hadn’t wanted to leave this godforsaken cave before, he _definitely_ would've wanted to now.

 

                                                                                                          ♦

 

            Hanzo had said they'd go their separate ways, and yet here they were.

            It'd taken some cajoling, but Jesse had insisted that Hanzo let him repay him for helping him out when he could have easily left the gunslinger to struggle in the dark.

            Hanzo had eventually agreed, and when Jesse found out that the archer didn't have a way back – he’d _walked_ apparently – he offered Hanzo a ride.

            “A ride? On what, exactly?” The archer had asked.

            Jesse had laughed, glad to be in the open air finally, stretching and causing his joints to pop satisfyingly, “How’d’you think I got here? I got a motorcycle.”

            “Why did I expect you to say you had a horse?” Hanzo mused, eyes searching the horizon.

            “Sorry t’ disappoint, darlin’. So, ’s that a 'yes’?” Jesse drawled in response, gaze trained on Hanzo. When they'd originally came out from the mouth of the cave, Jesse had sworn in Spanish and English on the amount of blood and general viscera that covered the assassin – “what _did_ you cut off the poor sucker, anyhow?” – but Hanzo had waved him off with a simple explanation that it wasn't exactly abnormal in his work. The blood was mostly dry, now flaking off of his jacket and dark pants.

            “I suppose. Where is this motorcycle?” Hanzo replied, still searching around them. His hand was on the strap that kept his quiver in place, bow snug over his shoulder.

            Jesse grinned, hooking a thumb in a motion behind him, “That’a’way. Got her tucked away in a tidy li’l nook. Got everythin’ you need?”

            The archer gave a small smile in return, free hand coming to rest on the canvas satchel at his side. It had a disturbing red stain. Jesse supposed he should be glad it wasn't dripping. “Lead the way, McCree.”

            Which lead them to this: Hanzo had his arms tight around Jesse's middle, and Jesse was trying his hardest not to enjoy it too much.

            When Hanzo had seen the ‘cycle, which didn't exactly have a side car, he'd questioned how they were going to both ride it. Upon Jesse's explanation that Hanzo would sit behind Jesse – which the gunslinger expected the archer would raise issue with – he was pleasantly surprised when Hanzo agreed with little argument.

            The cowboy was fully aware of every movement that the assassin made, how his arms tightened and loosened, how much space was left between Jesse's back and Hanzo's chest. It was distracting, but he did his best to file away any thoughts for later – like when he'd be alone in his motel room – and focus on the road.

            He was doing well until they pulled into the parking lot of the diner, and Hanzo was still snug behind him.

            “Y’- y’ can get off now,” he began, feet planted on the ground, looking over his shoulder. Hanzo's face was closer than he thought, and Jesse quickly turned back to look at the diner’s front window. The advertised 24-hour service. A neon sign blinked 'open’ beside a sign that claimed that they served Omnics as well as humans.

            Hanzo spoke slowly, mouth once again close to Jesse's ear, sending a shiver down his spine, “I have a severed appendage on my person. I would rather not step into a crowded establishment.”

            The words themselves weren't the cause of the blood that rushed both north and south. However, the fact that the archer’s hands were still clasped just under Jesse's ribs and he could feel Hanzo's breath on his neck, was more than he could currently handle.

            “We could hide it in my motel room if y’d like,” Jesse offered, berating himself internally for acting like a teenager again.

            Hanzo hummed in thought before replying, “That will have to work for now. How far away is it?”

            Jesse kicked the kickstand back into place, “'Round the corner if you don't mind holdin’ on for another couple minutes.”

            “It is fine with me, I am sure you do not mind, either,” he responded, almost coy.

            Jesse coughed but didn't reply, instead backing back out of the 'lot and getting back on the road in record time.

 

                                                                                                          ♦

 

            By the time they got back to the diner, it was past ten, and Sara wasn't on shift anymore. Jesse was thankful for that – he wouldn'thave to explain to the poor girl why his companion was covered in dried blood. Instead, he could blissfully ignore the other employees and patrons (not that there were many at this time).

            They sat at the same table that Jesse had hours ago, and when a waiter came over, Jesse flashed his most charming smile, hoping to distract from Hanzo.

            “Give us a few t’ decide?” He asked, fighting to keep eye contact. The waiter – a thin boy, scruff on his chin, reminded Jesse of his own younger self – nodded, looking slightly weirded out at the gunslinger's staring, and left.

            When Jesse looked back to Hanzo, the archer had an eyebrow raised curiously. The cowboy frowned, “What?”

            “You seemed eager to have him leave,” the other observed.

            “Yeah, well one of us is covered in blood because they refused t’ take a damn _shower,_ ” Jesse retorted, making a face. “As if it ain't obvious that somethin’ happened.”

            Hanzo picked up the plain, laminated menu, studying it for a moment before answering, “The motel room was filthy,” he declared simply as if that explained everything.

            Jesse rose an eyebrow, resting both elbows - real and metal - on the table as he leaned forward, “Still, didn't have’ta stop you.”

            The archer looked down his nose at the bounty hunter, matching his raised brow. Jesse thought Hanzo would look really good in glasses. “Perhaps I did not want to spend more time in your… _room_ than needed.”

            A bad joke being pushed aside in his head, Jesse snatched the menu from Hanzo's hands and began reading. This had been the last thing he would have expected to happen when he went out into the Mojave hours earlier, but he wasn’t entirely disappointed. Sure he wasn't going to get paid, but he did apparently gain some sort of weird understanding - could he call it a 'friendship’ yet? - with Hanzo.

            “Y’ should get the pancakes: they're mighty fine,” Jesse suggested, looking over the top of the menu at the archer.

            Hanzo looked amused, smirking slightly, “Perhaps I will,” he stated, gaze sliding over the options at the back, “McCree, I must know something.”

            “Shoot, darlin’,” the gunslinger smiled, using the back of his hand to scratch at his nose. Damn thing itched like a sonovabitch.

            “Do you always invite assassins out for pancakes? Or would I be an exception.”

            Jesse barked out a laugh, leaning back in his chair as he looked back at Hanzo. He felt something drip down into the whiskery hairs of his mustache and the cowboy wiped at it absently as he replied, “Damn, y’ really are somethin’ else, aren't ya’? Nah, 's just you.”

            The archer looked pleased, smiling softly to himself as he placed the menu down finally between them. A waiter - who'd been hovering nearby - took it along with their orders of two stacks of pancakes, a coffee for Jesse, and water for Hanzo, and made his leave.

            The dripping hadn't stopped, however, and Jesse was silently cursing. He knew what was coming, and quickly scrambled to grab a handful of available napkins, stuffing them under his nose. He'd missed some though, and some blood had already gushed messily onto the table.

            Hanzo made a small noise of surprise, looking at Jesse with both eyebrows raised, “Why are you bleeding? Did something happen - are you alright?”

            The gunslinger shrugged, shoulders slumped slightly, “Dry air,” he replied, voice nasally, “It causes m’ nose t’ start bleedin’ sometimes.”

            Hanzo shook his head dubiously, “There is a bathroom that way,” he instructed with a nod off his chin in the direction.

            Jesse stood, giving him a wink, trying to be charming despite the fact that he had a wad of napkins pressed against his face, “I'll just run to th’ li'l cowboys room, then.”

            “Do clean yourself up, and make sure it's not serious.”

            “Didn't know you were worried, darlin’.”

            “You seem to like false assumptions.”

            “Y’re fond of 'em,” Jesse retorted.

            Hanzo gasped, looking affronted, “I resent that hideous accusation.”

            The cowboy was grinning, and at Hanzo's expression, he couldn't help the boisterous laughter that broke free. The archer shook his head, waving his hand in the direction of the bathrooms once more, “Go, go take care of yourself.”

            Jesse continued to smile during his five-minute clean-up. Hanzo had smiled back at him, and for reasons he really didn't care to try to explain, that made him feel like a kid again. It was refreshing, and despite the fact that his nose had started bleeding, it'd been more like comic tension relief than a hindrance. Once he was blood free, Jesse took a second to fix his appearance in the mirror. It could pay off to be a little vain right now, even if his company was blood-soaked.

 

                                                                                                          ♦

 

            When they'd finished, both men went outside for a smoke: Jesse deciding it was enough of an occasion for a cigarillo, and Hanzo had a brand of cigarettes that Jesse didn't recognize but knew enough to know that they were high-end.

            Leaning against the side of the building, side by side, they didn't speak. There'd been enough of that, and Jesse could understand the want for silence. He found himself focusing on the falling and rising of Hanzo's chest, how his lips and fingers wrapped around the cigarette. Jesse sighed, blowing out a breath of smoke. He knew it was more or less a lost cause to get so interested in the other man. They were both running from the law in their own way, going their own way, and doing their own thing. It'd been separate until now and it was smarter for it to stay that way. Still, his mind couldn't help but suggest a Bonnie-and-Clyde-esque situation.

            “McCree… thank you for tonight,” Hanzo spoke suddenly, startling Jesse out of his thoughts, “It has been a long time since I have enjoyed myself like this.”

            Jesse smiled, directing it in Hanzo's direction, “Anytime, darlin’. ‘D say let's do it again, but…”

            “We may cross paths again,” Hanzo replied, “But it would be advisable not to get too involved. I am glad you understand.”

            The cowboy nodded absently, taking another drag of his cigarillo. He understood, but he didn't want _advisable_ , “A’yeah.”

            With a small hum of thought, Hanzo moved away from the wall and looked at Jesse, cigarette in hand, “I suppose we should part ways now. Goodbye, Jesse McCree.”

            The gunslinger grinned, feeling bittersweet as they both started their way towards the motorcycle, “Jus’ call me 'Jesse’ if y’re gonna go through th’ effort of findin’ out my first name.”

            “You say that as if we will see each other again,” Hanzo replied, an echo of their last meeting, and Jesse found himself laughing.

            “We might,” the cowboy pointed out.

            “We might,” the archer agreed.

            Jesse stuck his thumbs into the loops of his belt as they stopped by the 'cycle, gaze trained on Hanzo in the poor neon lighting of the tall sign above them. He didn't want to leave, not when he'd found something better than getting paid. Silently, he chastised himself. He couldn't make a living like this, he needed those jobs, and Hanzo was a competitor. What Jesse needed to do was _avoid_ Hanzo and the areas he covered. He rubbed a hand down his face, sighing. Another bounty, failed. 

            "I'll see ya around then, darlin'," he spoke softly, taking the cigarillo out of his mouth to blow smoke discreetly away from Hanzo. "Wish y' luck."

            Hanzo's lips quirked in the beginnings of a smile, "And you, gunslinger," he responded, taking his bow from where it was folded compactly in a sidesaddle - Jesse found it amazing how small the thing could become - and giving Jesse one last parting glance before turning and starting his way out of the 'lot.

            Jesse watched him go before a thought struck him, "Wait a sec, how're y' goin' t' get back to wherever you came from?!" he called.

            Without turning, Hanzo replied, "The same way I came in."

            The cowboy frowned, and went to yell another question, but Hanzo had turned the corner. Huh. Did that mean...?

 

                                                                                                          ♦

 

            Later, when Jesse returned to his motel room, he noticed something slipped under his door as he came in. Picking it up, he continued into the bathroom where they'd left the bounty proof in the tub.

            Still there. Like he'd thought.

            Looking at the paper in his hands, he saw that it was a note, written on one of the napkins from the diner in a scrawling handwriting. Leaning against the door frame, he tried for a moment to get past the loopiness of some of the letters, and once he did he deciphered: 

 

                        to make up for last time.

                        next time, we will be even. i look forward to it.

                                                            - h.

 

            Jesse grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> once again you can reach me at softhanzos and flashbang-up on tumblr!! <3 hope y'all have wonderful days!

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr @ softhanzos ! Feel free to hmu ! ❤❤❤


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